Danny Allen Was Here (8 page)

Danny couldn’t stand watching any more. ‘I’m going to help him.’

Sam pushed a stiff arm across Danny’s chest, barring his exit. ‘Don’t be stupid!’

Danny pushed the arm away. ‘Stanley won’t hurt me. I used to feed him.’

Sam shook his head. ‘Sheep can’t remember things!’

Danny put his hands firmly on his hips. ‘They know where all the best tracks in the creek are and how to get there. If they can remember that, then Stanley will remember me. It wasn’t
that
long ago that I used to nurse and feed him.’ Danny pointed in Mark’s direction. ‘And I have never teased him. I bet he remembered Mark. Stanley’s got no reason to be angry with me.’

Before Sam could respond, Danny suddenly darted from the fort. Once out of the reach of his protesting brother he slowed down to a sneaking pace.

‘Don’t go, Danny!’ Vicki cried through the small window. ‘Come back in. Come back in!’

‘Yeah, don’t be an idiot, Danny,’ Sam called. ‘Get back here.’

‘He won’t hurt me,’ said Danny out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I know he won’t.’

‘You don’t know anything, Danny,’ said Sam. ‘He’s not a lamb any more. He’s mad!’

Vicki put some hair into her mouth and started chewing nervously. ‘Daaannnyyyy,’ she whined.

Sam watched silently. In his mind he ran through some strategies of what to do if Danny found himself in trouble. He would have to grab a big stick and charge.

Danny stood in the playground and called gently to Stanley. ‘Hey, Stanley boy, hey?’

He scooped up a handful of soft, powdery dust. He threw it into the air to attract Stanley’s attention. It drifted in a cloud over the ram’s head.

Mark Thompson lay still, as if dead. The gash on his head looked disgusting. For an instant, Danny gained some wicked satisfaction at seeing the gash. Mark would need stitches and he didn’t like stitches. He couldn’t even look at Sam’s arm when he’d had stitches after the dune surfing. He even hated seeing the scar they’d left. Anyway, getting stitches would serve him right!

Stanley looked up to the dust Danny had thrown. The big ram stepped back. He turned to look at Danny. Their eyes met.

‘Please come back in, Danny!’ Vicki cried.

Danny bent down and pulled up a big tuft of green grass that was growing around the base of the playground tap.

He held it out and offered it to Stanley. The big ram tossed his head once . . . then twice.

Danny’s heart thumped hard against his chest. Stanley eyed him. Danny froze. Danny was sure he was going to charge. So was Sam. He moved to stand just outside the fort. Vicki held her breath.

Stanley started to walk toward Danny, who didn’t flinch.

‘Keep still, Danny,’ Sam urged.

Danny waved the grass tentatively. Stanley kept coming: slowly, cautiously, suspiciously.

‘Here, boy,’ said Danny nervously. ‘Have some grass.’

Sam picked up a stick ready to charge at the big ram and beat him away if he took to Danny. Vicki turned away; she couldn’t watch. ‘I don’t like to see guts,’ she mumbled forlornly to herself.

Danny offered the grass cautiously to Stanley’s nose.

The ram sniffed and took a cautious step forward. He then began nibbling sedately. Danny knelt and pulled up more grass. A minute later he had a hand on Stanley’s back as the big ram munched happily at the small forest of grass around the tap.

Danny looked to Sam. ‘The grass should keep him busy. Come on, let’s drag Thommo out of the way.’

Sam moved slowly to stand with Danny. ‘If Stanley looks like having a go at us,’ he said, ‘we get back in the fort.’

Danny nodded.

Vicki called to her brothers. ‘What about me?’ she squealed. ‘Don’t leave me here, dooooon’t.’

‘You wait. We’ll get you in a minute.’

‘But I . . .’

‘No buts. Just wait in the fort and
don’t
come out. Got it?’

Vicki nodded. ‘Well, hurry up then,’ she whined.

Sam and Danny stood side by side. Staying close together they crept across the playground. Sam clutched his stick, ready to strike, just in case.

They reached Mark without any problems. Stanley hadn’t even noticed them. The grass was good on this side of the fence.

Mark was moaning when the brothers knelt at his side. He stirred as Sam moved to look at the gash.

‘What? Who?’ Mark mumbled incoherently. He lifted his head. ‘Where is the . . . ? Oh, my head hurts.’

Danny stuck a hand over Mark’s mouth. ‘Shhh!’

Sam looked at the gash and screwed up his face. ‘That’s horrible,’ he said.

Mark’s head fell to the ground with a thud and he groaned again.

‘Come on, hurry up and grab his arms,’ said Danny. ‘We’ll have to drag him.’

Sam grabbed an arm and they began dragging. Mark’s head wobbled and his body left a wide trail. He opened his eyes. ‘What . . . what are you doing?’ he asked dozily. ‘Get off me! I can . . .’

‘You can’t do anything!’ hissed Danny. ‘Just shut up!’

‘Yeah shut up!’ Sam agreed.

They dragged Mark into the fort and sat him up. He suddenly remembered what had happened. ‘Oh no! Where is that beast? Where is it?’

‘He’s over there,’ said Danny.

Stanley looked so peaceful and harmless. He occasionally lifted his head and gazed around as he munched.

The children took the opportunity to slink out of the playground. Danny and Sam supported Mark all the way. At the Mundowie Hall they stopped to sit at the feet of the soldier statue and rest. Sam looked at Mark’s head. It wasn’t as bad as it had first seemed. ‘We’d better get you home. Your mum will have to take you to the hospital in Port Bilton.’

Danny grinned wryly when he said, ‘You might need stitches.’

Sam lifted the arm of his shirt to show the scar from the cut he’d got when surfing the Everest Dune. ‘You won’t need nine like me though.’

Mark bowed his head and buried his face in his hands. ‘No, I won’t need any, I won’t.’ He babbled incoherently. ‘If I do, I’ll need ten at least. But they’re not poking a needle and thread into me.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Danny, keen to make Mark as uncomfortable as he’d made Stanley. ‘I watched them do Sam. They push the needle into your skin and when they pull the huge silver needle through,’ (Danny pinched his skin on his arm and stretched it) ‘your skin stretches up and . . .’

‘Shut up!’ Mark grumbled. He went suddenly pale and hung his head again. ‘And anyway, my mum’s not home.’

‘Where is she?’ asked Vicki, looking up at the soldier and the sky beyond. She hated blood as well.

‘She’s in the city.’

Vicki scrunched up her face and closed one eye to find out if she could see up the nose of the soldier statue. ‘Why?’ she asked matter-of-factly.

Mark paused. ‘She’s looking for somewhere to live.’

Vicki opened both eyes and looked quickly at Mark. ‘Are you moving away, Mark Thompson?’

Mark didn’t respond immediately. Vicki nudged him. ‘Well? Are you?’

Mark shook his head. ‘No . . . just my mum,’ he answered softly.

There was silence.

Vicki fired another innocent question. ‘What about your dad?’

There was another pause. ‘ . . . Nah, he says he hates the city.’

‘But that means they’ll live in different houses, doesn’t it?’

Sam hit Vicki on the arm. ‘Stop asking so many questions, Vicki. We have to get home.’

Sam helped Mark to his feet. ‘I tell you what, Thommo, if your dad can’t take you to Port Bilton then my mum or dad will. You have to be checked for concussion at least.’

Mark didn’t say anything except, ‘Jeez my head hurts.’

A few days later Danny was at the playground again. Vicki was there as well trying to fly on the swing. Sam had gone with Mark and his mum to get Mark’s four stitches out.

It was late in the evening. The sky over Mundowie
was streaked with a wash of wispy orange clouds. Danny was helping his dad. They were sanding down splintery swing seats and painting them blue. Danny suddenly thought it might be a good time to ask about the extra money and the silver bike.

But then his father stopped painting and said, ‘With this extra money I can get some work done on the old tractor.’ He looked into the paint tin he was holding. ‘And I’ll tell you what, Danny. We’ll spruce up your bike if there’s any of this paint left over. We’ll make it sparkle, Danny boy, just like new.’

Danny looked up at his dad. He was smiling and he was wearing the hat with the broad brim, the brown leather lining and the grease mark on the top that looked like a map of Africa. He tipped it back off his forehead. He looked to the sky. ‘If we can just hang on for another year, things have to come good. The last few years have been tough, so I’d gamble on the next season being a better one. With enough rain and a bumper crop we’ll get a new tractor
and
a new bike.’ His father ruffled his hair. ‘How would that be, Danny boy?’ he said brightly.

Danny nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah, that’ll be good, Dad.’

‘Yeah,’ said his father distantly, ‘if we can just convince them to let us hang on.’

‘Who, Dad?’

‘Ah, never mind, Danny, let’s get this playground sparkling.’

When Danny looked to the sky, he wished for days of thunder and rain just like the day he went on the secret mission of tadpole hunting in the dam. That’s what he was thinking about when the sound of a car caught his attention. Mr Wallace was pulling out of his dusty driveway. He was towing a trailer with high wire sides that made it look like a cage. There was a large animal in the trailer. Danny stared as the trailer came clearly into view. The large animal was Stanley. He
was riding in the back. Danny and his dad waved. Mr Wallace tooted his horn and pulled away.

Stanley was staring out of the back of the trailer. From where Danny was standing, Stanley seemed to be staring right at him. Danny watched him until he was lost in a cloud of dust and the fading light of the closing of another day.

Danny stopped painting. ‘Where are they taking Stanley, Dad?’

‘He’s been sold to another farm for breeding. He’s moving out of Mundowie and on to bigger things.’

Danny couldn’t imagine moving out of Mundowie.

‘Mr Wallace is pretty chuffed about it all actually,’ his dad continued, pushing his hat thoughtfully from his brow again. ‘He got a good price for him. He hadn’t thought Stanley would ever amount to much, but there you go, you can never tell.’